How not to race a car

The 2015 Mini Challenge car - the F56 in model codename-speak - is a very, very serious racing car. It weighs 1100kg, has a 2.0-litre turbocharged engine with around 270bhp and, raciest of all, harnesses that power via a six-speed Quaife sequential gearbox. It's two-thirds of the way towards being a full-blown British Touring Car, which makes it the world's meanest Mini proposition. GQ is pondering this proposition, very nervously, 20 minutes before the first of four Friday practice sessions, primarily because it's nine years since our last competitive outing. To be perfectly honest, what seemed like a good idea two months ago - when a guest drive in one of the UK's top motorsport championships was first mooted - now feels optimistic, if not downright daft. But at least the weather's good, which is amazing this close to Manchester.

Here's our guide to driving such a beast. But before you get stuck in, watch this video of what not to do...

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Know the turf

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We're at Oulton Park, 2.6 miles of seriously naughty track in Cheshire. Every racing driver I know will tell you the same two things: what a great challenge it is competing here, and how much it hurt when they fell off at the notorious double-apex corner known as Druids. Oulton focuses the mind, not just because it has three of the trickiest corners you'll find anywhere in the UK -

Cascades, Island, and the druidic one - it spectacularly ramps up the jeopardy by having next to no run-off and minimal margin for error. A detailed, corner-by-corner circuit guide is therefore an indispensable part of the preparation process. Better still, spend a day here, preferably in the car you'll be racing, and preferably in the company of a professional racing instructor, who will delineate the braking, turn-in, entry and exit points with a precision you can only dream of. GQ has to make do with a distressingly well-thumbed circuit guide.

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Acclimatise

The Mini Challenge car starts life on the same production line as the regular car. But don't let that fool you. This is a pint-sized monster that wants to rip your face off and give your children nightmares (nice chromed wrap on my car, though). The interior is almost completely stripped for action, the race seat is set so low in the chassis that you can't see the corners of the front wings, and the cabin is dominated by that huge, centrally mounted gear lever, with its exposed linkage. A small digital display sits ahead of you, showing various temperatures and pressures, your lap 'delta', and a row of LED lights above that glow blue-to-red indicating when to change up. The main panel's buttons operate wipers, windows (electric windows in a race car!), battery, and ECU. Try to stay cool as your race engineer, a brilliant young guy called Will Taylor, feeds you the six-point harness that effectively turns your body into an extension of the car, and sorts out the HANS device that'll keep your neck safe in an impact. But you're quaking inside. (Your assistant mechanic, Jonathan Voss, turns out to be a watch fetishist, and a chat about the Heuer Silverstone is a useful distraction.)

Don't get carried away, but don't be a Sunday driver, either

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Remember the basics. Spend time learning the circuit, and be mindful that tyres and brakes are as much use as a chocolate teapot until you've got some proper heat into them. Which means picking up the pace and, you know, growing a pair, without overcooking it. (Sorry about the mixed metaphors.) Racing cars are built tough, and the Mini F56 doesn't like being treated with kid gloves. That's when it'll bite, so you've got to show it who's boss. The brakes and throttle act like switches: they're either on or off, so don't faff about in between. Brake as late and as hard as you dare, then plant the throttle immediately. Monster some of the kerbs, but not all of them; you can break dampers that way. Jesus, there's a lot to remember.

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Apply some science and use telemetry

If you can, compare your telemetry traces - which will turn braking and throttle inputs into a visual read-out on a graph - with a front-runner's. You'll be able to see immediately where you can improve. In my case, you could watch all 61 episodes of

Breaking Bad in the gap between where I'm actually braking and the point where I should be braking. I'm also not picking up the throttle early enough. And the Mini's gearbox is so robust, the little throttle lift you need to apply in most road cars in the name of mechanical sympathy just isn't necessary here.

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Two of my four 20 minute practice sessions were cut short by "incidents" - much like our experience in GQ's offical Caterham race car, so Saturday morning's 15-minute qualifying session is, to be blunt, somewhat pressured. I notice that my detachable steering wheel isn't on straight - my fault - and that means I'm even later and more nervous as I head onto the track. But that gives me some clear air to run in and that, plus the pressure of the moment, works wonders - my lap delta soon shows I'm a whopping two seconds a lap faster than yesterday's best time. My elation is short-lived; a 1min 56.01sec lap might be a vast improvement but it's still five seconds slower than pole-sitter Charlie Butler-Henderson's time, and good enough only for 19<sup>th</sup> out of 26 starters. Where the hell do these guys find that sort of time? Still, it's not last, and not completely hopeless. Not when you remember that everyone else has been racing all season, and that the top 10 are all pros, ex-pros, or soon-to-be pros. Besides, I'm starting to understand the car and its quirky ways, and I've also had my first big 'moment' into and out of the Knickerbrook chicane and survived.

Turns out you can do what rally drivers call a 'Scandinavian flick' in a non-rally car. On slick tyres. On a hot circuit. You're really not supposed to, but you can.

Get some proper sleep

Race one

Let's get the cliches out of the way. 'To finish first, first you've got to finish, 'You've got to be in it to win it' etc. How true these words are. Motor racing is officially a non-contact sport, and the stewards will automatically investigate any contact that does occur. This weekend, the stewards will be very busy indeed. Like its BTCC big brother, the Mini Challenge is a race series with big elbows and a propensity for argy bargy. Following a

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'green flag' warm-up lap, we take up our grid positions and wait for the red lights on the gantry to go out. Theoretically, this should be the moment of maximum nerve shreddage, but my system is so replete with adrenalin I barely notice. But I do know that I haven't done a practice start, so depress the clutch, dial up about 4000rpm and hope for the best. As it happens, I get away surprisingly well, hustle through the first corner and round Cascades like a pro, then watch jaw agape as three cars spin out in front of me at around 100mph. One of them is fully airborne. The race is red-flagged, but thankfully no-one's hurt. At the restart, I get another cracking getaway, vaulting ahead of some quicker drivers. This now presents some problems, because I have to stay ahead of them. I do, for two laps, until I leave the door open into the Shell Oils banked hairpin, turn in on the correct line (more or less, I'm still stuggling with my braking points), and get rudely T-boned. It's an understandable but overly ambitious move that pitches me into a half-spin that I manage to collect on the exit of the corner (check out the onboard footage). The next two chicanes -

Britten's and Hislop's - are an even bigger adventure now, but there's no suspension damage, thankfully. I keep my nose clean for the rest of the race to finish 12<sup>th</sup>. This is pretty good, all things considered.

Race two

I start where I finished race one, and get another unexpectedly decent getaway. This puts me right in the thick of the first corner action, which turns out to be both very thick and very action-packed. Three cars tangle right in front of me, and pirouette off. There is no rule here, other than to aim for where the spinning car is, because by the time you get there it'll be somewhere else. Probably. I'm into eighth position now, which is vastly further up the field than I thought vaguely possible, and get to bask in the moment for three laps behind the safety car.

When that finally comes in, I spend the next two laps fending off a couple of young hotshoes. Now I'm really racing. It's an enormous buzz, but it can't and doesn't last. They're just too fast, and when I get a tap up the chuff at 80mph, it's clear I need to put up or shut up. But I do hold onto 10<sup>th</sup> place, and that, barely 24 hours after sitting in the car for the first time, and dicing with drivers of this ability, is all right by me.